14 Reasons Why
by Shirleylocked
Summary: Sherlock was dead...he had jumped off of St. Bart's rooftop three years ago. Every sign of him was gone: the violin collected dust, the experiments deteriorated, even his scent was gone...but the memory of him haunted John. Three years after Sherlock's death two words lead John to a phone with 14 messages on it, explaining Sherlock's suicide...and a voice John has sorely missed.
1. Vatican Cameos

**Okay, so I had this idea and well...yeah, this happened. I would like you all to know I haven't given up on my unfinished stories, they just haven't been working out in my brain at the moment. I guess that's writer's block for you...terrible.**

**Anyway!**

**I read a book about four years ago called: 13 Reasons Why. If you haven't read it, it is briliant and sad, and amazing at the same time, read it. It is about a girl who has commited suicide and then this afternoon an idea just popped into my head. She committed suicide and so did Sherlock, so I decided to combine the two. I hope you like it.**

**There will be 14 reasons why in this version, because I am OCD and need an even number (or a number devisable by three, don't ask). **

**I am not sure if Sherlock is actually going to be alive at the end or not, so i will need some input on how you want this to end. There will be some fluffy Johnlock stuff, but mostly angst, sorry.**

**M for suicide, drugs, and rape. but A+ for cute Johnlockyness. :)**

**Post RF**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to ACD, SM, MG, BC, MF, AS, and BBC. I'm just throwing a twist into it. I can't remember who wrote 13 Reasons, but credit to them too!**

**Without further interruption, the first chapter of 14 Reasons Why... **

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Vatican Cameos

It had been three years since Sherlock had jumped off of St. Bart's rooftop in front of John's eyes. A very cruel way to leave the world, in front of your most trusted and loyal friend. John hadn't been right ever since. He had been in and out of a psych ward at least three times since the incident. He was in a deep depression, boarder lining catatonic. He didn't sleep often and when he did he woke screaming after seeing Sherlock's body smash against the pavement over and over again.

Four times he had reached for his gun.

Twice he had pulled the trigger….

Twice the gun jammed…

John had felt that the world was cheating him of a chance to get rid of all of the misery, but then he learned that it was Mycroft, meddling as usual and he gave up trying to off himself—_that way._ But other methods had been foiled by Mycroft as well.

John was sitting in his chair as usual, old newspapers sat next to him on a small table. Newspapers about the Fake Genius' death, and papers that were two years more recent, explaining that Moriarty had indeed been real and Sherlock was truly a hero…two years too late. The flat itself looked hardly lived in. Nothing had been cleaned since Sherlock's death, no, John wouldn't allow anything of Sherlock's to be touched. Mrs. Hudson pitied him.

John got out of his chair and limped to the kitchen, using his new cane to steady himself. For the first time in a week he was thirsty, but when he opened the milk he realized it had gone sour since his last visit to the fridge. He sighed heavily and turned to the figment of his imagination that he had grown quite fond of.

"I'm going out, we've run out of milk again." John said, knowing full well that Hallucination Sherlock wouldn't reply or acknowledge him with more than brief eye contact, but he spoke to him anyway. John slowly put his coat on, not bothering to change into nicer clothes before walking down the stairs with a faint goodbye to Hallucination Sherlock.

John trudged down the street, not daring to look for a cab. He was perfectly fine with walking to the nearest Tesco. As John walked down the street he didn't notice the shadow behind him, nor notice the cameras that followed John and the shadow that followed him.

John maneuvered his way through the shop quickly, without really realizing he was doing it. He supposed that if the store was ever rearranged he would actually have to be _awake _to navigate through it. The machines that used to make him so irritated didn't bother him so much anymore, yes he could still never get the bloody things to work properly, but he simply had no drive to be upset about such a simple thing anymore, after all, losing a friend was far worse than a stupid row with a machine.

John walked out of the Tesco with a single bag and began to walk down the street. He wasn't paying any mind to anything around him, as normal. He was lifeless, just going through the motions because a dead consulting detective's brother refused to let John move on. Someone rammed hard into John's shoulder and he tripped and fell to the ground. Whoever had hit him didn't apologize, but John didn't care as he dusted himself off and stood up.

A strange sight caught his eye from across the road. Something was familiar about the graffiti on the building across from him, but through the windows of a double decker bus, he couldn't discern what it was. When the bus had cleared out, John gasped.

Yellow, Michigan paint graced the side of the building. Two words were painted onto the wall. Two words that only three people knew about:

**Vatican Cameos**

Following the two words was a bright yellow smiley that was almost identical to the one on 221B's wall. John's first reaction was to duck, but he didn't, he just stood there, frozen in time. John stared at it wide eyed until he saw a woman pass in front of him. "Excuse me, but do you see what's written on the building over there?" John asked. The woman looked at him for a moment and looked at the wall.

"Vatican Cameos…makes no sense. Wasn't here a few minutes ago. Are you alright sir?" She wondered with a concerned look on her face. "You look as though you've just seen a ghost."

"I think I have." John said in a daze limping away from the girl and crossing the street. He stood in front of the graffiti and gently touched the yellow letters.

"Dr. John Watson?" A young, female voice called. John looked at the young woman that was familiar to him, one of Sherlock's homeless network.

"I'm not a doctor anymore… Why are you here?" John asked.

"Sherlock told me to bring you this package, when everything blew over." She said holding out a small box.

"What?" John asked, shocked.

"He said he wanted you to know things if the worst were to happen to him. I've been trying to get your attention for months, you've been…distant."

"No shit." John commented. "Sorry—"

"I understand Dr. Watson. Take this, please. He wanted you to have it." John took the box from her. "You should go home, it was only meant for you."

John walked home quickly, with something of Sherlock's in his hand. He didn't know whether to be excited or not. He walked quickly into the flat and sat down in his chair, opening the box quickly. Inside the box he found a phone and a letter with his name written on it in Sherlock's hand.

_Dear John,_

_My dearest friend, my only friend... I'm sorry that I have left you only with this and I wish I could have left something more for you. Without a doubt you are in great emotional turmoil and I never wished that upon you. I never wanted you to hurt, ever. _

_I felt terrible, knowing that I could quite possibly be leaving you behind with no warning and no explanation as to why I would do such a thing. Yes…I did think that there would be a day for my suicide. Moriarty was set on winning our game, and I knew that was what he would want in the end, me to complete his story. I tried to prolong the game as long as I could, to try and buy myself some time to see if I could possibly defeat him without any negative repercussions, but I obviously failed. _

_I am currently sitting in Bart's. You're with me. You think I am writing notes down as you sit across the lab from me, but obviously I'm not. I want to tell you all of this in person John, I really do, but you would be your idiotic brave self and try to fight all of my demons for me. I started this John, and I intend to finish it, without you getting anymore tangled up into my problems._

_I am sorry…but I can only explain my impending suicide with fourteen points. Fourteen things that could possibly compel me to do this… You of all people should understand. Besides, I need to tell someone, someone I trust. And since there's only one person in the world I completely trust with everything, I'll have to tell you._

_You don't have to listen…but I do need to get these things out. Strange, the need for closure…it's such a human thing John… Do you feel like this all of the time? All of this sentiment drives my mind insane, I don't know how you handle it. I'll leave everything on the phone. It's recorded on the voicemail… The passcode is your name._

_Sorry, my dear friend,_

—_Sherlock Holmes_

John took a deep breath and wiped his eyes. Why hadn't he seen his friend's distress? Why wasn't he there when Sherlock had needed him most? It felt like a new knife was burrowing into his heart. He knew he could have helped Sherlock, if he would have stopped being pedestrian for one moment and actually observed what was happening around him.

John sniffled and picked up the small phone. It was simple and well taken care of. John pressed the power button and the phone came to life easily. John sat with the phone in his hand for a long time before he called the phone and turned on the speaker. As requested he entered his name and waited. The toneless voice told him he had fourteen messages and asked him to press a number in order to listen.

He held his thumb over the number for a solid minute, listening to some clock tick and count the time before he pressed the button. The robotic voice spoke for a minute before silence filled the room.

"Hello, John." John didn't realize he was holding his breath until he gasped at the sound of his dead friend's voice. "I have thought over how I was going to say this for a long time. I did mention that there was fourteen reasons…but I felt it would be far too…taxing to think up fourteen different reasons as to why I should die, so I decided to think of seven reasons to die, and seven to live. If you're listening to this I chose the former, and I do apologize for that." John hadn't heard Sherlock ever sound that genuine for an apology before, ever…and that silently broke John's heart. "I will understand if you ignore the rest of these messages and walk away, but I'll record them anyway. Helps me to think… Let's start off with a reason why I should—or rather, would probably be inclined to die. I don't mind if you shut this off, John… I can understand if you don't want to listen."

John couldn't find it in him to shut it off. He was clinging onto Sherlock's voice, the last thing he had left of Sherlock.

"Reason number one…" The smooth baritone said softly.

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**A/N: Alrighty peoples. Now that I've started this there is no turning back. I will be finished before school starts up again I can promise you that. **

**Tell me how I've done, and If you would be so kind, please tell me if Sherlock should be alive or dead at the end. (Though some chapters might just morph your oppinion a bit).**

**Reviews please? Thank you.**


	2. Death 1: Drowning

**First off I want to thank everyone who reviewed. I am delighted that this story has already taken off as rapidly as it has. It's always good to have someone like your work. It makes writing it so much more rewarding. THANKS!**

**First Reason. I have learned that when writing the reasons that he would feel inclined to commit suicide listening to this (**** .com (slash) watch?v=uwIVuKSfdvo) sets the mood rather nicely. Listening to it might get you more into the mood.**

**So, this is the first reason. I will probably have the second reason done today, and possibly the third. Some chapters might be shorter than others, just as a warning.**

**I don't own Sherlock and if I did ther would be a lot of Johnlockyness and a mini Sherlock with John's compassion running around 221B. :)**

**Warning for child abuse, near death experiances, and angst.**

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Death 1: Drowning

John sat in his chair listening to Sherlock sigh slightly, sadly. "The first reason—logically—why I should be inclined to die has to do with my past. I don't think I've ever told you about my father, have I John? No, I wouldn't talk about such a thing…but since I'm in a talkative mood I might as well right?

"I've told you about Mummy, you know about Mycroft, but I never spoke about my father. I suppose even you could think of a possible reason for that. My reason is abuse. He hurt me John, a lot. I still have scars to this very instant, John." Sherlock sighed. "He didn't care for Mycroft or myself very much. We were too smart, and he didn't like anyone who was superior to him. He was a drinker and an abusive drunk." The tightness in Sherlock's voice was obvious and pained.

"Oh god, Sherlock…" John felt a tear stream down his face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Mycroft practically raised me through my first few years. Can you believe that we were really close at one point, John? We were, but I'll have to get to that later. I was two when I first put together Mycroft's protectiveness with me, the bruises on his skin, and my father's alcoholism. You were right about one thing, John, I started at a very, very young age. I was very smart you know, even from the beginning."

John had never heard Sherlock talk about Mycroft so fondly before. He had never heard such a sincere tone of voice from _anyone_ in regards to Mycroft, and here he was hearing it from the least likely source.

"I was three when he first turned his rage on me. Mycroft had come to take care of me, I was having a nightmare believe it or not, but when he came into my room I noticed he had been crying. He was nine John, he was a strong young man, he never cried. I knew that our father must have done something terrible to him, especially since he walked with a limp. After Mycroft had left I snuck downstairs to confront my father. I told him he was wrong for trying to hurt Mycroft and that I was going to phone the police if he didn't stop…" Sherlock paused for a moment.

"If it weren't for Mycroft three of my fingers and my right wrist would still be dysfunctional today. I doubt I would be able to play the violin properly if he hadn't set my fingers and wrist. He had thrown me down the stairs. I think that's when I broke my wrist…I don't really know it really is just a blur. He slapped me at least three times and broke my fingers, telling me that if I wanted to see Mycroft ever again that I wouldn't tell a soul. I naturally went straight to bed I didn't even wake Mycroft…but he found me the next morning. I had tried to hide my wrist, but with a fellow genius in the house, hiding something isn't exactly easy, especially at that age."

"Sherlock…" John whimpered wiping the tears from his eyes. It was as if Sherlock knew John would be upset and crying, because he paused for a minute.

"I'm sorry… Perhaps I shouldn't be laying this on your heart, my dear doctor…but then again, you do have every chance to shut this off…"

"I won't…you need someone to be there for you." John promised.

"You wouldn't though… You are too loyal for that." Sherlock sighed before continuing his story. "After that moment, whatever deals Mycroft had made to keep me safe from that devil were null and void. I still don't know to this day what Mycroft had done to keep me safe, what he had endured, because he never did talk about it, and if there were physical wounds or emotional marks he buried them…deep.

"I was father's new favorite to beat. I can't tell you how many times I was hit, I can estimate it close to a few thousand…how many thousand, you needn't know. I can tell you that I've broken twenty different bones, some of them more than once, though thankfully he never went after my hands again. You've seen the breaks before John, when I was in the hospital… Mycroft told you that I was just an overzealous child, but in all honesty that really wasn't the case. I did break a wrist falling out of a tree, once however, I believe I was pretending to be a pirate. Can you imagine? Me, a pirate?" Sherlock chuckled.

"Wearing an eye patch and a hat around the house…" John giggled with Sherlock. It was a watery laugh, but a happy one, one that the inside of 221B Baker Street hadn't heard in over three years.

"Can you imagine that I used to talk Mycroft into joining me? He used to have a red and white t-shirt and a sword." Sherlock laughed louder.

"He wore a t-shirt?" John giggled, stunned.

"Mmm, Mycroft wasn't always the posh king we know today, my dear doctor." Sherlock answered.

"Dear god, it's like he knows everything I'm going to say." John whispered.

"It's not that hard to figure out John… I mean, I can't be one-hundred percent accurate, but I know you better than I know myself my dear doctor…I think I know how you will respond to certain things…" Sherlock sighed. "I only wish I could hear you giggling right about now. That strange laugh could really make light of any situation, but you're sleeping… I do apologize for exhausting you all of the time, by the way. And I apologize for waking you up earlier, but I really did have to put that pillow there, you would have hurt your shoulder otherwise. I'm sure your arm will be fine when you wake up…but of course, you already lived through everything, so I guess I _hope _your shoulder was fine when you woke…

"I don't know how I got so far off track… Talking to you never goes the way I planned, even when you're not actually here to talk back." Sherlock paused for a brief moment. "The days were much the same at my house for a long time. While father was at work the three of us would be happy, Mummy, Mycroft, and I. We would experiment and play and relax…but when he came home all of us fell apart.

"Most children blame their mothers for not protecting them when they were young and abused…but My and I didn't. Much like I was threatened with My's death, she was threatened with ours. She couldn't leave the grounds without him being alerted at work. He would be home within minutes if she tried to leave, so neither of us blamed her for not getting us out. We just tried to be happy with what little we had.

"I was seven when I tried to defy my father again… I was cleaning the foyer for what must have been the hundredth time, it was never clean enough for him…but then I noticed something off about my father. He was cheating on my mother with two people. I could see it clear as day…and I told him just that. He was drunk that night and yelled at me, telling me to take it back… I was just as stubborn then as I am now, my dear doctor… Perhaps I should have learned my lesson before then." John could hear Sherlock sniffle quietly, trying not to cry.

"Sherlock…what happened to you?"

"He called Mycroft into the room and ordered him to go run a bath. I didn't understand what was going on at the time. Father just simply glared at me for a few minutes. Mycroft returned to tell him it had been run, but father yelled at him to go back to the bathroom. He asked me to take it back, he told me it was my only chance. I told him that the truth was the truth and shouldn't be hidden… He shrugged and dragged me up the stairs to the bathroom and tied be down to the chair next to the vanity. He had Mycroft's arms and legs tied together." Sherlock sniffled again, quietly, trying to not wake John who was just a room away.

"'You're brother doesn't know when to shut his smart arsed mouth, Crofty. I think he should learn, don't you? I think he should learn that he's not smarter than me.' I still remember the look in his eyes." John could hear Sherlock shudder. "Mycroft didn't see it coming, he couldn't even catch his breath before father began to drown him in the bathtub. Mycroft was a strong thirteen year old, but father was stronger, and with his arms and legs bound, he was helpless. He tried to fight, he struggled, but he couldn't escape. I begged for ages, I tried to get out of my own bonds, but he didn't relent and I couldn't get free. Mycroft was slowing his struggles when I finally realized what game he was trying to play with me. He wanted me to take back what I said, so I did. I lied…I hid the truth…but he pulled Mycroft out of the water.

"I was almost the death of my own brother, John… I lived in a house full of abuse for eight years of my life, perhaps that is one reason why I might be inclined to die…" Sherlock said slowly. "I can't delete it, my dearest doctor. No matter how hard I try it never goes away, tainting my mind palace…making it harder for me to think."

"I so sorry, Sherlock…you didn't need to go through that."

"Don't feel bad for me, John…you couldn't have stopped it." Sherlock stated. "Though I'm sure you would have if you had the chance… No worries, John. Father's in prison and has been for many years. He was supposed to be released, but Mycroft has his ways of ensuring otherwise. He can't hurt anyone, so please don't make it a point to go after him, John."

"You know me too well." John sniffled.

"I know." Sherlock whispered a little late, but still in reply. "I suppose that's reason number one. I won't fault you if you delete the rest of these, but I know you won't do that…sentiment. No matter how mad you could possibly be with me, sentiment is still there… The next voice mail has my next message. Perhaps you should get some sleep, my dear doctor. You must be very tired. I know I would be…if our situations were reversed. Sleep my dearest friend… I promise you my voice will still be on this phone in the morning. Talk to you later, John." The line cut off and John ended the call to the voicemail box.

Taking Sherlock's advice he got up and went straight to Sherlock's room. John hadn't slept in his own bed since the fall and though Sherlock's scent had long since left the bedding and the pillows, there were still a few shirts in his bottommost dresser drawers that still smelt like him. John pulled one out and pulled it on before curling up on the bed and falling asleep, Sherlock's voice still fresh in his mind.

For the first time in three years, John didn't dream about the fall. He dreamed about a young Sherlock who sat on his lap wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch, giggling about his latest and greatest adventures.

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**A/N: Pirate Sherlock... I had to put something light in there. **

**Favorites make me fell good.**

**Alearts make me feel great.**

**Reviews make me feel loved!**


	3. Life 1: Mycroft and Mummy

**Another Chapter for all of you... Some fluffy Johnlock in here. Thanks for all of the favorites! Enjoy. You might have one more chapter later tonight.**

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Life 1: Mycroft and Mummy

John woke up early the next morning, feeling more well rested than he had in years. He found it amazing how just Sherlock's voice could soothe him even during the harshest of moments. He finally understood Sherlock's addiction to nicotine and drugs, because he was officially addicted to the sound of Sherlock's deep voice. He limped out of Sherlock's room using the walls to guide him, still wearing his t-shirt as he made his way into the main room.

He sat down in his chair and reached for the phone. He quickly called the voicemail and skipped the first message, waiting a split second to press the button that would play the second. He waited for the robotic voice to go away and waited anxiously for Sherlock's voice.

"Good morning, John…well, I assume it's morning for you. I did ask you to get some sleep. I know you went to sleep, you would do anything I asked, all part of your loyalty isn't it my dear doctor? I hope you slept well. Did you sleep in your room or mine? I hope you know my room is open to you, anything of mine is yours, my dear doctor. I'm sure you wonder about that…'my dear doctor'. You always say such wonderful things about me, you know? It felt only right that I had some sort of endearment for you. This is the one I always used in my head. I'm sorry I never said it to you in person, I just couldn't find the courage. I'm not good with sentimental things."

"It's fine, Sherlock…and yes, I sleep in your room." John replied. Sherlock had an endearment for him? And he used it in his head? That was most certainly news.

"I suppose I should get on with things… I can't really have a conversation with you can I? I can only predict some of the things you would say… You really are a surprise to me most days. It's refreshing that you aren't always so damn easy to read." John blushed slightly at that. "You don't even try, you just are, and it's…good as you would say…" Sherlock paused. "While there are many reasons why I feel as though I should die, there are just as many reasons for me to wish to live.

"Mycroft and Mummy being one of them… I was nearly nine when we finally got away from my father. He was driving in the car with all of us with him…he was drunk and thankfully a copper pulled him over. He started to talk to my father and I guess Mycroft and I were on the same wavelength that day, because we both looked at each other and knew what we had to do. When the cop looked back at us we began mouthing words at him. It took him a minute, but he got the message, especially when Mycroft rolled up the sleeves on our shirts to show the copper our bruises and scars.

"Father was arrested that day, and later found guilty. I haven't seen him since the trial, thankfully. After the trial things were a lot more relaxed in my life… We moved out of the house and into a manner outside of London. It was a beautiful place, John, you should have seen it, it was a nice place. Mycroft and I were as close as any brothers ever were back then. I was a depressed child, John, I cannot lie about that.

"Every cruel word, everything my father had done had left scars. There's a part of me that agrees with some of the things he said about me, a part of me that thought that it was rational of him to hurt me. I was a depressed and very hurt nine-year-old, but I had Mycroft and I had Mummy.

"For the longest time they were the only reason why I kept going. They kept me sane, made me feel loved when I felt like no one cared. I would through fits in school, freak out over the simplest things and one or both of them would always be there to pick me up and put me back together again." Sherlock smiled. "They would take me on wild adventures all over England to try and placate me, to make me feel loved and needed. Mycroft would work on huge projects with me to keep my mind off of the past, to show me that there were things worth living for. It was quite nice, having someone there for me. He taught me how to play the violin, well, when I say taught I mean he got me started, the rest I picked up on my own…

"Mummy is an amazing artist. She taught me how to draw and recreate things that I have seen. It was good for my deductions to be able to draw out everything that I knew about a person or a place. You didn't know that I could do that did you?" Sherlock asked suddenly. "I never did tell you about that. You can look at my drawings if you wish. There's a secret compartment under the bottom shelf in my closet, I've placed my sketchbooks there if you wish to see them. Some of them are quite interesting…you might recognize them and some of my deductions along with them.

"I always felt like I couldn't kill myself because of these two people. I had always felt like my life would be easier if I weren't living it, if I didn't have to actually partake in it, but I couldn't do that to them. I felt it would be rather rude to kill myself after everything they had done to keep me alive and mostly happy. I couldn't hurt them like that, they cared far too much for me." Sherlock paused. "You should eat you know. I know it sounds wrong of _me _to remind _you_ seeing as how you are the doctor, but please do eat. I don't want you to be ill.

"Speaking of…are you still working at the clinic? I know how much you love taking care of others. I hope you are still doing what you love."

"No Sherlock… It all ended when someone I loved left me." John admitted sadly.

"You are a wonderful doctor, don't let anyone tell you any different. How is the shoulder? I never do ask you about that enough. I should, I really should. It causes you pain and I should be more in tune to it."

"You always were." John shook his head.

"At least I paid attention that one day. Do you remember? I massaged your shoulder for you… You didn't think I had that in me did you?" Sherlock chuckled. "You learn a lot when you have my job. I should have done that more often. You obviously enjoyed it as you were quite relaxed by the time I had finished."

"It was lovely Sherlock." John replied.

"I was just glad it wasn't hurting you any longer. You had fought off three assailants for me I had to do something for you. By the way, I still think it was stupid of you to do that. It was obviously going to end with you hurt somehow or another; you should have thought it through."

"You could have died, Sherlock." John snapped.

"I would have been quite fine, thank you very much." Sherlock replied almost as snappily. "I am pretty sure I know exactly what you're thinking at the present time." Sherlock chuckled. "Don't fight with me on this, I will win. Well, my dear doctor, you should eat some breakfast. You may look at the sketches too if you wish. I'll still be here by the time you're done. You can listen to more if you want later. Get something to eat, alright John? Some nice toast with jam, and your favorite tea perhaps, peach I believe. I'll talk to you soon." The line cut off and John hung up the phone.

"He wants me to eat." John shook his head and slowly got up, using his cane to help him hobble to the kitchen. He started toast and pulled out a jar of jam. It was new, thanks to Mrs. Hudson. John started the kettle and limped towards Sherlock's room. He opened the closet door and looked at the bottom shelf. He knelt down and lifted the boards of the shelf and found a little cubby underneath them. There were three sketchbooks and a metal box that was locked tight.

John grabbed the sketchbooks and closed the cubby again, pushing himself to his feet with the cane, groaning slightly at the ache in his knee. He placed the books next to the phone and went back to the kitchen readying his toast and tea before sitting back down in the living room. He ate quietly before pulling out the oldest sketchbook and placing it on his lap.

He opened the book to the first page and was met with the image of Greg Lestrade standing in the doorway of some run-down place. A dim light shined behind him, but his features were distinguishable. John could tell that Sherlock was nearly laying down when he had first seen Lestrade, as he was stood over Sherlock. Something akin to anger and fear was on Lestrade's face. It took John a moment to see the needle on the floor in front of Lestrade's feet. John turned the page and saw the next image, also of Lestrade.

This time the prospective was from a comfortable bed in a warmly lit room. Lestrade was standing over Sherlock again, with a steaming cup of tea in his hands and a concerned look on his face. John flipped to the next page but didn't find a drawing, he only found Sherlock's writing.

_DI Lestrade, obviously under Mycroft's orders to find me._

_Strongly opposed to drug use._

_Strong morals._

_Had a hard life and only wishes to help others. _

_Emotionally abused as a child, no physical wounds but the eyes speak most._

_Tired…spouse troubles._

_Concerned about me…_

_Good person overall, not one who would intentionally hurt me._

John smiled and continued to flip through the book. There were many different images of crime scenes, with deductions written all over them, pointing out the different things his mind observed. Some were in color, others were not, and some had only small specks of color, like the last page in the first book with only a green latter drawn, but everything else was in pencil.

John took a sip from his tea before he opened the next book. His eyes widened at the sight of himself, leaning against a cane in Bart's. he turned the next page to see a long list of deductions.

_Strong and brave._

_Invaded Afghanistan, solider, army doctor._

_Giving, but not quick to trust. Strangely I might be the only exception._

_Not a nervous type, takes things in stride._

_Lived with an alcoholic father who disapproved of his choice to become a doctor. Mother died at a young age. __Brother__ Sister is a drunk who walked out on __his__ her wife._

_Dr. John Watson was captured in Afghanistan while trying to protect his comrades, managed to escape but was shot in the shoulder. Judging by the scar he took the bullet out himself with his fingers. They didn't find him until the damage was done._

_Loyal…a true friend, wouldn't hurt a soul who didn't hurt him first. (or someone he cares for)_

_Good shot._

John laughed at the last sentence. He had remembered Sherlock saying that to him before. He looked through the rest of the book and was surprised to find that his face took up more space than even the dead bodies did. He saw different depictions of places that he didn't even know he'd been in. He didn't know that Sherlock had actually seen his shoulder, but there were drawings of it in immense detail.

The third book was filled with more of John, a single drawing of The Woman with her eyes dilated, and five separate pictures of Moriarty, but the rest was John. John sleeping on the couch. John angry, John happy, John, sad, John furious, helpful John, trusting John, sweet John, laughing John… Each had own little descriptions next to them.

_Never seen that smile before…_

_He was quite upset that day…I forget what I did to make him that mad…_

_Mrs. Hudson just made him tea, that cheered him up…_

"He saw everything…why me though?" John wondered, tearing up at all of the work Sherlock had put into memorizing every single one of John's expressions. John finished his tea and put the sketchbooks on the side table before grabbing the phone again and waiting for the robotic voice to stop…

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**Reviews are like candy...non-fat amazing tasting candy. Yum.**


	4. Death 2: Abuse

**As I said, some of these chapters will be short, case in point the one below. The next one will probably be short as well.**

**Also! PLEASE NOTE THIS! Not everything in this story is going to be in chronological order. I will talk about that more when we get to that point, but i just want you to know that this isn't a perfect pretty little time-line. I have 14 things i want to cover and they don't lay out perfectly flat, but that's alright, right? Not like Sherlock thinks chronologically anyway**

**M for drug use.**

**I still don't own Sherlock... I don't own 13 Reasons why either... BUT! I DO own a couple of awesome reviews!**

**Read on peoples.**

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Death 2: Abuse

"Hello, my dear doctor. Have you eaten? Ah, why would I ask that, of course you have. I wonder if I can guess what you ate… Peach tea and strawberry jam on toast, correct?"

"Mango, Sherlock…" John replied.

"I wish you could tell me if I was right or not. It's so much easier when I just know." Sherlock sighed. "You're still sleeping by the way. I must have really run you to the ground. I didn't mean to, honestly. You're out cold though." John could practically hear Sherlock frowning. "Did you look through the drawings? I think you did, we might talk about a few of them at some point…"

"Why did you draw me? Why were there so many sketches of me?" John asked, hoping Sherlock would have foreseen the question.

"I suppose I should get on with it… This is only the third reason and I don't know how much longer you will be sleeping. I have to just grit my teeth and keep going." Sherlock paused, thinking. "The second reason why I should die is I am honestly not quite right in my mind. I've known it for a long time. I'm unstable. In fact until quite recently I have been known to be rather self-destructive…

"It's almost as if I can't live without abuse, no matter where it comes from. Is that an actual problem that normal people have, or is it just me? Does anyone else feel the need to hurt themselves? It's not necessarily the fact that I _want _to hurt…I just feel like I _should_. Is that normal?"

"Nothing about you is normal, Sherlock." John said, tears in his eyes yet again at the sorrow in his friend's voice.

"I guess I just had to hurt myself, John…" Sherlock stated. "When I was a teenager it was cutting… It was easy to do and I knew my anatomy well enough to not kill myself. Mycroft caught me and I can't even begin to describe how terrible I felt when I saw how disappointed he was. That was the beginning of the end between him and I. See, he was stronger than me, always pushing forward, deleting the past and moving on. I couldn't delete it, and thus I was forced to relive it, quite literally…"

"Sherlock…why didn't you just talk to someone? Why didn't you ask for help?" John ran his hands through his messy hair angrily.

"I stopped cutting, only because I knew he would catch on. I refused to turn to the drink, I couldn't do it, not after what my father had done, so I went to the next best thing…"

"Drugs…"

"Cocaine to be precise." Sherlock stated. "It started of very slow, with very small dosages every once in a while. I couldn't help but fall in love with it, John. It shut up my brain, it made it so that I didn't _have _to think. I was still able to think if I wanted to, but I was able to stop, with the drugs I was finally in control of my mind. I was finally able to decide when and what I thought about, instead of constantly listening to my thoughts zoom at a thousand miles per hour, hurtling through every thought almost faster than I could comprehend. That's all I was, a person out of control…the drugs solved that.

"It happened quickly. Soon it was the only thing that could calm me down, the only think that allowed me to think properly, the only thing that allowed me to sleep…then I just stopped doing all of that together. I stopped caring about everything else. Cocaine had become _my _alcohol. I was no better than my father John, but I didn't care…I couldn't…I was too far gone."

"You're better than him Sherlock." John whispered.

"Mycroft caught me…" Sherlock said after a long moment. "He made me choose, him and mum or the drugs. That's when our family started to shatter. I left, bad habit in tow. You can't imagine the looks on their faces… I didn't care at the moment, but looking back I would say that what I did was more than a 'bit not good'. And so I continued torturing myself… Without Mycroft to stop me the cutting resumed and the drugs doubled. I just couldn't seem to stop myself from trying to harm myself.

"I am truly not good for this world John. I hurt myself constantly, what's the point on living a life if it is only full of misery? If all you ever go back to is misery? Eventually I always make it back to depression. I am in control of myself for a little while and then I go back to hurting myself, back to my crazy, unstable mind. I don't like being out of control John, I hate it." Sherlock stopped talking for a moment. "I suppose that's enough of that… I will talk to—well _at_—you later."

John froze for a moment, hoping that there would be some sort of light at the end of the very long and dark tunnel that was Sherlock's life. He pressed a single button and waited for the next message to start.

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**Well, that's how Myc and Sherlock started to fall apart. Poor Sherlock.**

**Reviews might make me be nicer to him. (not really, but you get my meaning). (It will make me happier though...)**


	5. Life 2: Lestrade

**This is today's last update... I'm going to go to sleep now, I swear it. I probably won't upload as much tomorrow, as I have a game to attend, but I will probably have a chapter or two out.**

**Enjoy.**

**M for drugs, just warning you.**

**I still don't own anything, except for my twisted mind.**

**Enter, the fourth reason.**

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Life 2: Lestrade

"I assume it's been mere seconds since you finished the last message. Don't ask how I know that John I just do." Sherlock said quickly as if he were slightly annoyed.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly in the background. "Don't you ever sleep?"

"Not tonight John." Sherlock replied steadily. "I hope I haven't disturbed you." John wished he could somehow go back to that moment and take Sherlock into his arms. He wanted to stop time, tell Sherlock everything would be alright, that he didn't have to take the jump, that people cared for him.

"Not at all." John replied. "I was just thirsty."

"Oh…" John could hear the smile he had once seen at that moment. "Well, don't be bothered by me."

"You bother me?" John scoffed, the fridge door opening. "Who are you talking to? There can't be any one else up at this time of night."

"One of my dearest friends actually." Sherlock replied.

"I thought you said you didn't have friends." John yawned, taking a drink.

"I don't…" Sherlock chuckled.

"You confuse me some days, Sherlock. Promise me you'll at least try to get some sleep?" John requested.

"I'll try. I've just got to finish up." Sherlock stated.

"Alright…" There was silence for a few minutes before Sherlock spoke again.

"Well, it turns out you weren't sleeping as heavily as I thought you were." Sherlock chuckled quietly. "No worries, I can tell by your breathing you're back to sleep. I'll try to talk quieter so you don't wake up again. You really do need sleep John, your eyes are tired…so tired." Sherlock commented. "I think you know something to be quite honest. You've always been so in-tune to me. I feel like you can see through me some days. It's honestly frightening. You see something off, but I don't think you know what it is just yet… I don't know whether to be happy with that or not.

"Anyway, I was supposed to be making a point with all of this, not getting lost in my conversation with you. It's hard to stay on topic actually, more difficult than normal." Sherlock must have shaken his head before speaking again. "This will be about a person I owe my life to. You've said once before that I am 'quite fond' of him…and yes I am. Lestrade is one of the few people I've been able to trust in my life.

"He found me quite near death. I was high, ill, without sleep for weeks, and nearly starved to death when he found me. He was on a drugs bust. He was the only person in the room. I looked up at him and told him that he was having marital problems and that his wife was sleeping with another man. He…sort of stared at me for a moment. Then he turned around, said that the room was clear and led the rest of his team to the next room.

"He came back an hour later. The entire house was clean except for me. The cops had cleared off and he came back for me. He picked me up John, carried me all the way to his car. I was coming down from my high and he wrapped me up in a blanket keeping me from freezing. He asked me how I had known about his wife and I explained to him how I knew it. He took me to his home, he didn't even know me John. He just accepted me…

"I'll never know what set me apart from all of the other drug users and dealers in that house, but he found me and felt the need to fix me. I, of course, felt far beyond fixing. I had already stumbled my way through Uni—but that story's for later—and made a complete mess of my life. Without question, he just started to try to piece me back together again. His kindness brought me back to life, John. I would have given up had I never met him.

"The next day he came back to the house with case files thrown onto the table. He didn't know but as he made dinner I looked through all of them and deuced every single culprit for each case. He served dinner and stared at the cases the entire time. He ate less than me, John, if that tells you anything." Sherlock chuckled. "'The brother-in-law killed Mr. Green using a knife from the kitchen.' I just couldn't let him sit there and puzzle over the cases like that. He looked so tired…and after he didn't send me to prison I owed him something. Of course he asked me how I knew that, and I just told him the answers to the others before I left.

"He came into the room he had lent me the night after that and told me that the two murderers I had chosen and the thief had all admitted to their crimes…and he asked me how I had known. I told him everything…and then he offered me a job, John, something to put my brain to. You of all people must know what that meant to me.

"Now, how could I possibly commit suicide after all of the work he did to keep me out of trouble? He put so much effort into getting along with me and trying to keep me out of prison even when he knew I'd relapsed. He put his career on the line for me, someone he didn't even know." Sherlock paused and chuckled. "You know I guess I'm not as sociopathic as I think I am. I put up a great front though. Life is easier when you don't have messy emotions trying to control you…"

"You were never a sociopath… I knew it from the first day, Sherlock." John stated.

"Oh, please don't say 'I told you so' it is very annoying."

"You do it!" John retorted.

"I'm smart enough to get away with it." Sherlock replied with a slight laugh.

"And I'm not?" John asked.

"I never said that, John." Sherlock said seriously. It was moments like this that mad John's head spin. He was talking to a recording and said recording knew exactly what he was going to say before he said it. It was like Sherlock was actually in the room again. John didn't know if he was feeling pain or joy in his chest anymore. "You're smart, I mean, not genius smart, but you are a very smart man. I don't think I've told you that enough. Might as well start now right?"

"A little late don't you think?" John scoffed.

"Better late than never… Isn't that the saying?" Sherlock wondered.

"GODDAMN IT!" John shouted flinging his head back against the chair and covering his eyes. "You're going to drive me more crazy than I already am with your dramatic mind-reading over a fucking phone from three years ago!"

"I think it's the right phrase." Sherlock hummed after a moment's thought. "I could look it up, but your laptop's in the other room and mine's dead. Not worth the effort." Sherlock chuckled. "You'd call me lazy right about now…I suppose I am. I think this could be the end of this message… Perhaps you should get another tea, John. I do know how much you love tea. Until next time…which I would presume is going to be rather soon for both of us." Sherlock's voice faded away and as Sherlock had requested John got up and put the kettle on. He looked at the clock and was surprised that it was getting close to noon. He wasn't hungry, but he nibbled on a piece of bread, knowing it was probably best if he ate _something. _

After the tea had been brewed he sat back down and looked at the phone. How much more of Sherlock's painful past could he take in a day? John wondered. He sighed and picked up the phone again, ready to listen.

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**The next two chapters will be out of order with the rest of the story, but never mind that. It will then snap back into order starting from this chapter (chronologically speaking).**

**Nighty-night (for me anyway).**

**Review please.**

**I'll give you cookies.**


	6. Death 3: Rape

**Warning! M for rape. Nothing explicit. I merely mentioned it. I didn't want to be too harsh.**

**Sorry that i didn't have this done earlier. I don't really like writing chapters like this...it's difficult...but somehow i do it anyway.**

**OH! And there is mentions of impending torture from Big Brother at John's command, but i feel that you will find it justified. I did.**

**I still don't own Sherlock or 13 Reasons Why...but I do own an Ice Cream Sunday thanks to one of my very generous readers.**

**THANK YOU FOR THE FUDGE, BBYBYRD! YOU MADE MY DAY! :)**

**DON'T FORGET THAT THE HAPPENINGS IN THIS CHAPTER HAPPENED BEFORE LESTRADE MET SHERLOCK.**

**Thanks.**

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Death 3: Rape

"I don't know if you really want to listen to this one John…" Sherlock didn't even bother to say hello and that startled John quite a bit, he just came out with a warning. "I just want you to know that you would probably be best shutting off this recording and going directly to the next one… I know I'm not the best at thinking of other people's feelings but I think I'll make an exception here." There was a long pause. "You're still listening aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Damn you… You always listen to me, but then you get this sudden urge to do everything opposite of what I suggest. Perhaps I should have told you that you shouldn't listen to this one because it's about a florescent bunny named Bluebell, perhaps you would have left." Sherlock scoffed.

"How did Bluebell get into all of this?"

"Just trying to lighten things up a bit," Sherlock said seriously, then he laughed lightly at the pun he had unknowingly made. "Oh god, the last time I joked was on that very case, seems fitting right?"

"You were talking about me getting off with that psychologist… You're not the best with jokes Sherlock." John said quietly. Why was Sherlock so insistent that he leave this message and go to the next? John could only guess that this one had to do with excessive feelings…Sherlock had always had trouble with feelings.

"I think Baskerville wasn't the first time I felt fear…in fact I know it wasn't the first time. The only time I ever feared my father was when he threatened My or Mummy. But he never frightened me personally. No… I don't think I was ever truly frightened until my last year at Uni. You know me now, John… You know I'm usually in very good physical shape. I may not eat or sleep as much as you think I should, but you could never say that I couldn't take care of myself in a scrap.

"I was very strong throughout my youth. Boxing was something that helped with that, but you already know about that. After doing drugs for so long I didn't really care about my shape anymore, my strength. It didn't matter to me. I think it bloody well ought to have mattered looking back on it now." John hadn't heard that much emotion in his friend's voice since the time he had called him to tell him goodbye, before he had jumped.

"What is it, Sherlock?"

"Look at me I'm tearing up, shaking… There's something wrong with that. It's out of my control, I hate being out of control of myself. I always want to be in control over my body, my mind, but here it is betraying me."

"Sherlock?" John asked, wishing not for the first time that he could wrap his arms around Sherlock and make everything better.

"I feel cold…just like that night. Is that normal John? Is it normal to physically relive traumatic moments in one's life? It must be right? You have dreams of Afghanistan to this very night, you limp sometimes when you're tired. You're hand shakes sometimes when you reach for your tea. I can't be that odd can I?" John could hear the tears in his friend's voice.

"Why didn't I wake up?! Why didn't I go and talk to him?" John cursed himself.

"It was cold out on the street… I was bored John… I didn't have any drugs to control my mind and it was spinning out of control. I had to leave the university, I wasn't capable of standing around all of those people with my mind that out of my control. I always saw _everything_ John. It was giving me a migraine. I just had to walk away… I was walking through a small city… It was cold…so cold." Sherlock's voice wavered.

"What happened to you?"

"There was a man from Uni on the street… He was older than me, but even in my drug induced haze I was smarter…two years ahead of the rest of what was supposed to be my class… He was drunk, I could tell it just by the way he looked. I paid him no mind, not even the slightest as I walked past him, but his eyes followed me…and soon he was following me. I don't know how many times I told him to sod off… I might have told him it in six languages, but he was so daft he wouldn't have understood it in English, let alone French, German, Latin, Italian, or Portuguese…" He paused for a long moment.

"Everyone assumes I'm a virgin, John… With the exception of Mycroft I think everyone assumes me to be asexual or some nonsense of the sort." Sherlock's voice was quiet, unsteady. "I'd never particularly cared for anything of the sort, I've always been busy with other things… School, drugs, the work, and playing the violin. I never needed to know about the whole thing. I knew the chemistry and what it did to the brain, but aside from that I ignored it, anything past that was superfluous and not needed in my mind…"

"Oh god Sherlock…" John stated in a pained voice. The tears didn't even sit in his eyes, they freely flowed down his tired, lined face.

"You've figured it out haven't you? Caught up?" Sherlock commented his voice going dark. "Yes, you're right, my dear doctor… I was raped that night in a dark ally way. I was helpless with no way to stop it. It was like my father was back all over again. I had embarrassed him at breakfast one morning, pointing out who he had shagged the night before after he had called me a freak. He said I provoked him, that I deserved it…and back then John I was naïve enough to believe it."

"Why didn't you come to me, Sherlock? Why didn't you talk to me?" John cried, his hands over his eyes.

"He left me there, broken, bleeding, and unconscious. Ripped apart from the inside out…" Sherlock commented. "I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I do know that I woke with Mycroft hovering over me, not in the ally way, thank heavens… I think that was the very last time we truly acted like brothers. He held me and let me cry. He didn't bother to yell at me for my insistent drug use, he just held me and let me yell and scream and cry…

"You don't know how disgustingly used I felt… I don't think my emotions have ever been that out of control before or since. But you know what the odd thing was? I couldn't tell Mycroft who did it. Of course I knew exactly who he was…but I couldn't let Mycroft know who he was… You know why…don't you? Because just like with the cutting, the cigarettes, the drugs, and my father…I felt like I deserved it. I'm a freak…a cruel freak who doesn't know when to shut my mouth."

"No you're not, Sherlock. You didn't deserve any of this."

"I'm not a hero, John. I never have been. There are a few people around me who think I am, who want me to be a hero, but I can't do it. I've never been able to become who they want me to be. I wish I could, John. I wish I could be better…I just don't know how, don't know how to be anything other than the freak I am."

"No, Sherlock, you're wrong."

"You knew…from the very beginning. You noticed that people's words actually offended me. Everyone seemed to think I was unaffected, but you saw it, my dear doctor. Perhaps you are the only one who actually choses to look at me with their eyes open… I don't know… I should thank you for that too… All of those 'brilliants' and 'amazings' and 'fantastics'…guess I won't get around to doing that in person will I? I'm sorry…" Sherlock obviously had tears running down his face.

"It's alright, Sherlock…"

"I went back to him you know…" Sherlock said quietly. "I've seen the man who raped me again… He asked me for help on a case once. He wanted me again, John. I could see it in his stance. I need to thank you for being there that day… I don't think I would have been able to fight him off… I was strong at that time, but John he had so much control over me… Thank you for being there, or the worst quite possibly could have happened to me yet again." Sherlock's voice was full of nothing but gratitude.

"Who was it? Who do I have to hunt down and torture, Sherlock. I can do it. It's been a while since training and I've got a bum leg but I can still torture him."

"John, don't make a murderer out of yourself. You _are _a hero, and that shouldn't be tainted." Sherlock sighed heavily. "Sebastian Wilkes... Is there something wrong with me for going back? even after what happened? I think there must be. I need to stop talking about this… Get yourself a nice cuppa, John. Relax, and please don't do anything rash. I'll talk to you soon." The line went dead and John turned off the phone.

Every single inch of his body screamed in anger, in hatred for what that man had done to Sherlock. John was seconds away from finding his Browning and hunting down the bastard who had hurt his Sherlock. _Don't make a murderer of yourself… _Sherlock's voice repeated in his head. John closed his eyes for a long moment and then a neat little idea dropped into his head. He got up and found his own personal phone and sent a text to Mycroft Holmes.

_Sebastian Wilkes is a rapist. Please ensure he goes through the worst sort of hell. —JW_

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_Do you have proof of this, Dr. Watson? —MH_

_Yes. Don't you trust me? —JW_

_Indeed… Who did he rape that has caused this much fury in you, might I ask? —MH _

_Sherlock. —JW_

_I didn't know you knew about that… Rest assured he shall be in a pit far deeper than hell can offer. I will see to it personally. —MH_

_Break him for me… Do whatever it takes. —JW_

_I never do anything half-way, doctor. Thank you for informing me. —MH_

John let out a sigh before turning to look back at the other phone sitting on the chair. He was glad that the next message would be lighter, he didn't think his mind could take another dark message at the moment. He sat back down and started the next message.

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**I'd throw him in the deepest darkest hole there was and torture him until he begs for mercy twice. By the way, a few chapters back there was a Doctor Who reference, I wonder if anyone caught it?**

**Anyways... Reveiws are always lovely.**


	7. Life 3: Mrs Hudson

**M for language.**

**I apologize for Mycroft's buttheadedness (yes I just made up that word, but i think it suits him). AND I apologize for this being such a short chapter. Sorry...**

**I still don't own anything... :(**

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Life 3: Mrs. Hudson

"John, John, John…" Sherlock sighed. John could almost envision him shaking his head. "You've called Mycroft haven't you—no, you've texted him? Damn it, I thought I told you to not make a murderer of yourself."

"It's not murder if they live, Sherlock."

"Torture isn't good either…worse even, John. You're supposed to be the hero… I didn't want you to ever fall to my level, it's not for you."

"You're not a bad person Sherlock how many times do I have to tell you—!" John broke off. "I'm yelling at a ghost… He's not here John… Oh, god…" John covered his eyes.

"Are you through yet?" Sherlock wondered. "I can't possibly predict how long you will be yelling at me…or if you've stormed out of the flat. Should I wait and hour or two?"

"Your all-knowing deductions are not helping me keep my sanity here, Sherlock." John ranted. "If you keep replying to every word I say things are going to be quite bad for my brainwork. I'm going to end up hospitalized in some loony bin, chained to a bed. You know what, perhaps I deserve it with all of the crazy thoughts in my head. I even see a hallucination version of you! Oh, but don't mind that, everything's just peachy here, even with your goddamn dramatic ability to read my fucking mind!" John glared at the phone, his whole body shaking.

"I'm sorry, John…" Sherlock said a few minutes later.

"You're sorry?! I'm sure that will fix all of the askew wires in my brain!" John snapped then frowned. "I'm sorry…that was uncalled for…" He didn't even know why he was apologizing to the man who couldn't hear him, but he did it anyway.

"I suppose I have a rather good reason to cling to this world living in the flat." Sherlock mused. John froze, was this message about him? Did Sherlock really count him as someone worth living for? and why? "Mrs. Hudson's been a mother to me since the day I met her."

"Always surprising me, Sherlock." John sighed.

"I met Mrs. Hudson not too far from here actually. It was just after I had gotten clean. She was originally from England, but I knew she had lived a few years in America, judging by her word usage. I found her in a café with her sister. I took one look at her and I felt for her. I saw myself in her John. I saw the abuse she was taking and I felt the need to stop it. She looked so afraid, John… So fragile… I told her what it was I did for a living and she graciously accepted my offer to help her. It turns out he tried to murder her shortly after her return. Thank god I was hiding in the shadows, always watching… I ensured he got a murder charge after that. I even went to my brother and asked for his help—you must know how _desperate _I had to have been to do something that drastic." Sherlock chuckled.

"You do love her…"

"I think I found a second mother in her… She did nothing but cater to my every whim. In some ways she's more of a mother to me than my own Mummy. She deals with my quirks, still scolds me for them, but she doesn't dare try to change them. She takes care of me, but knows when to leave me alone to think. John, even for a sociopath I think I very well may love that woman." Sherlock laughed lightly.

"You did nearly kill a man for her, Sherlock." John commented.

"She's a big reason why I've kept going all of these years. She'd be so upset if she lost me…I'm really all of the family she has left, save her sister, but they hardly ever see each other nowadays. She's been so kind to me, so forgiving of all the things I've done in the past… She's always been there for me… She was one of the first people who made me realize that I wasn't alone… She's so funny and sweet. 'I'm not your housekeeper, dear.' I wish I would have turned around and told her that she bloody well may as well have been, because all she ever did was take care of me.

"I hope she's alright… If these are being listened to then I must be dead…so I do hope she's alright. I do hope she's fared well…"

"Better than I have Sherlock." John said sadly. "She hasn't tried to kill herself half a dozen times. I hate your brother by the way… He's nothing but a meddler who won't let things be. He's got a bloody awful power complex." John's phone went off. "Speak of the devil."

_He's been 'abducted' with no evidence I assure you. What in heaven's name are you doing? You look as though you've been having another one of your fits… Do you need me to come over there…to…watch after you? —MH_

"I don't think there's really much left to say, honestly. You of all people know how much I care for her. You did see me drop that man out of the window of course… Well, until next time, my dear doctor."

_Good. Sod off, Mycroft. It's none of your business. Leave me alone. —JW_

_He wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, John. I am only here to make sure that his wishes are carried out. —MH_

_If he wanted me to be happy and lively he would have stayed here with me. Some genius he was. I don't think he has a say anymore and neither do you. Sod off. —JW_

_He's broken you. —MH_

_What a stellar deduction, I'm so glad we have someone that smart running our government. —JW_

_Sarcasm isn't necessary, Doctor Watson. I apologize though… Please stay away from your Browning, and the medicine I know you've hidden in your cupboards, rest assured that I will ensure both are gone soon. –MH_

_You can't have my gun, Mycroft. Back off. –JW _

John shut off his phone and began searching the flat for all of Mycroft's bugs. He then found his Browning and hid it in a new spot. John realized he might still need it after he heard Sherlock through all of his troubles…might need it to rid his mind of all the pain he felt…all of the guilt for not being a better friend.

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**Poor John Watson... He feels so terrible for not realizing everything that was happening in his friend's mind. He might just shot himself over it, and I hear he has a great aim... :(**

**Reviews might make John smile a little bit...maybe...**


	8. Death 4: Mycroft

**Yup, it's a very short chapter...sorry folks, but Sherlock explains why that has to be that way...**

**This wasn't one of my original Ideas...but Mycroft has been annoying the hell out of me so he deserves this.**

**Did you guys know that my favorite band is up for best band of the first decade of the 2000's?! That's right Linkin Park! Wooo! Sorry, had to get that out somewhere no one in my family cares or shares my enthusiasm, so I just had to vent somewhere.**

**ANYWAY! Thank you for the lovely reviews, favorites, and followers. You're all beautiful.**

**I do not own any of this... If I did I would be both married and rich-not to mention i would be the envy of every woman in the world, maybe even some men. **

**Read on... Expect some chapters today, by the way. I am going to try to get alot of chapters done today.**

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Death 4: Mycroft

John sat down in his chair yet again, his whole body was quivering in anger. He was furious that he could have been so blind, that he would have missed so many things that were important to his best friend. He felt that perhaps if he had been a better friend, he might be having these conversations with Sherlock in the room, breathing, alive. He fiddled with the phone for a moment and waited.

"Hello, John." Sherlock stated warily. "I'm not going to waste too much time speaking through some of these reasons…there are more important reasons than these next couple, and I really wish to spend more time on them than these ones… I am running out of time. I know your sleeping patterns, you'll be awake in an hour or two, so I have to get through the rest of this rather quickly. Don't worry, I can talk fast." Sherlock chuckled. "I suppose there is another reason why I've longed for death, and he's already been discussed." Sherlock said slowly. "The fourth reason (or person if you prefer) that has me inclined to seek death is Mycroft Holmes."

"I should have seen that one coming, pompous, over-controlling arse." John spat.

"I'm sure you wouldn't approve of me for hating him so…" Sherlock sighed.

"I do now. I think the bloody term archenemy comes to mind." John scoffed.

"I myself don't feel that my feelings are justified towards him. He's been trying to save me from myself all of these years, and I think that's where my resentment for him has come from. For some unknown psychological reason, I don't know when to stop hurting myself…and he's been trying to fix that his whole life. He's been trying to save me, trying to put me back together for ages, and something in my mind tells me that I don't want or need to be fixed…certainly not the logical part of my brain, but something in there is holding me back.

"His methods are taxing… He follows me around everywhere I go with his cameras. He bugs the flat. He forced me into rehab—while deserved I am still not pleased with that…"

"Drugs are bad for you Sherlock." John insisted.

"I know that my choice to use drugs was wrong, but that didn't make me any less addicted… They helped me be normal for once, helped me relax and the one thing that kept me from drowning he took away from me. Indeed, there is quite a lot of history between us and we might have been very good friends, but I completely ruined that. I've ruined my family, John. How can I live with myself after all of the wedges I've driven in-between me and the people who worry about me most? Perhaps if I would have excepted there help I wouldn't be here in this situation now… Send my apologies to him won't you. Even though he's irritated me to no end and driven me to the point of no return several times, he's always really just wanted to keep me safe."

"I'm not telling that arrogant sod anything." John hissed.

"Well, I better start recording the next message… Talk to you very soon I expect." The line clicked and John sighed.

"How in the hell does he know that I just can't stop listening to him. Damn his amazing voice…" John pressed another button and waited.

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**John's torturing himself with that Voice of Sherlock's... Damn... Well, i guess if i hadn't heard his voice in years I would stop and listen to it too, no matter what he was saying, he could be reading Moby Dick for all I'd care.**

**Reviews?**


	9. Life 4: The Work

**Dear God in heaven, there is some heavy thinking in this chapter on John's part. I think he just realized what we've all been thinking from the start. Sadness...**

**Thank you for all of the lovely reviews. You must know how thrilled they make me feel.**

**Thank you MG and SM for making Sherlock a reality. Thank you BC and JW for being so adorable and amazing on screen together. Just thanks... :)**

**As I made obvious from the three sentences above, i still don't own Sherlock. But give me kudos, i give credit where credit is do. I do love to steal this characters and put them in places where they probably don't want to be, but hey, it usually works out in the end.**

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Life 4: The Work

"What do you know for sure that is something I live for John?" Sherlock asked quietly, not even mentioning a greeting. John shrugged. He had no idea, everything in the messages had shocked him so far. "The work, John, the mystery. It keeps my brain occupied, busy. Being bored just doesn't work out when you have that much thinking capacity on board. When I don't have something to focus on I go insane. It's like having a thousand voices all talking at once, babbling on and on about things that don't matter because they simply don't have anything else to do.

"It's troubling, not being able to focus. When I start to get bored I start seeing everything… The scratches on the bottom of the table's right front let where you clearly stubbed your toe recently, that must have hurt judging by the amount of paint that had come off. The patterns of dust that show how fierce Mrs. Hudson's hip has been hurting her. I just start noticing everything all at once and all of those voice just start shouting things at me, telling me random things that I don't need to know… It's troubling.

"The work fixes all of it… It gives me something to focus on, and that is something irreplaceable to me. Coming from a very catholic family I'm not so sure whether there is an afterlife or not, but if there was one I would plead for never ending cases to keep me occupied, my poor mind just doesn't do well without work. I'd chase after Bluebell if I was bored enough. God, why does that damn rabbit keep coming up? I suppose it must be the light from the streetlamp outside…it looks strange through the curtains."

"I didn't know you felt like that when you were bored… Could I have talked to you more? Would that have helped?" John wondered.

"Damn rabbit…" Sherlock stated again. "The work has always kept me going, kept the boredom from taking over my mind and driving me crazy. It's kept me off the drugs—mostly I relapsed twice, but no more than that I swear, John. It's kept me occupied… And no… I don't 'get off' on the dead bodies that lie on the ground or the people who suffer at the hands of criminals like Sgt Donovan had insisted, I never have. I simply enjoy a good mystery. I need a good mystery. I just need something to keep my brain going…

"If I'm correct it should be getting close to lunch. You should eat, my dear doctor. Go and watch some 'crap telly' with Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure she would enjoy your company. She always does. I'll still be here when you get back, John. Get some takeaway from Angelo's or that Thai restaurant that you love so much. I'll talk to you soon, my dear doctor." John paused the messages and got up to go to the kitchen. He didn't bother with Thai and he most certainly wasn't going to go to Angelo's—too many memories. He wasn't inclined to visit Mrs. Hudson in his state of mind either, he knew he wouldn't be good company for her.

He stood in the kitchen and reached up for a plate, reviewing everything he had heard in the messages that Sherlock had left him, when it hit him. The plate in his hand slipped and fell to the floor, shattering against the tile that was still messy from Sherlock's constant experiments.

There were only six reasons left and Sherlock hadn't even mentioned him yet. What category did he fall under? Was he like Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson, someone who had helped Sherlock through all of his toughest times? Was he like Sebastian, someone who had only hindered Sherlock throughout his life, with his dim mind and constant badgering? Or was he like Mycroft, someone he was grateful for yet resented?

The possibility that he might be one of the reasons Sherlock had decided to commit suicide ate at his heart and took every bit of the small appetite he had away from him. He felt a weight settle into his heart, mind, and stomach.

He had loved Sherlock, more than anything… Had he become the very undoing in the greatest man he had ever known? Had he been the final nail in his best friend's coffin? If he had been he knew he wouldn't be able to stand it.

He had to know. He didn't care about eating, drinking, or sleeping. Even _breathing _was boring to him now. He only wanted to know if he had somehow been responsible for the death of his best friend, the man he loved…Sherlock Holmes.

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**Uh-oh... I'm sorry John... I feel like you might spontaniously combust before we even get to the end of this. Too damn bad i didn't take your gun from you when Mycroft offered... Oh...wait...that could mean... Uh-oh...**

**I'm terrible aren't I? :)**

**Reviews please.**


	10. Death 5: Sherlock

**Hello again... Just here for another update. I won't get to write as much as I want to today as I am going to be going out to a movie tonight, but hey I've updated a lot today.**

**You know...I probably should put M up on every chapter because of suicidal thoughts...hmmm. Should start doing that.**

**Anyway! Read on people... (yes it's still shorter than my normal chapters...but like i said, Sherlock's pressed for time)**

**Still don't own anything.**

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Death 5: Sherlock

John limped back to his chair, not caring that he could have been cutting his feet on the broken glass beneath him. He sat down and picked up the phone. He fiddled with it for a minute before he put it down on the arm of his chair, waiting.

"Hello John. Did you eat properly? God, I'm starting to sound like you. Have you slept? Did you eat? Are you feeling okay? You're doing well, no need for cigarettes. How is everything? Do you know how many questions you ask me every day? I don't mind them, in case you're wondering, but you do ask a lot of questions. I just wonder if you ever noticed that you asked them…"

"That's me trying to take care of you Sherlock… Why didn't you just let me take care of you? I would have done it; good Lord I would have done it until the end of time." John sighed, covering his face with his hands.

"I hope you ate well. I wonder if you have a new favorite restaurant now… Perhaps there's a new place in town to eat at. I don't know… I can't possibly tell how far into the future this message has gone, so I can't predict if there is any new places to eat or not." Sherlock stated. "Well, I suppose this is my ninth reason right? This one is simple, short and sweet… You won't agree with me, but I feel it's true… I'm not a good person John. I'm not a hero. There are better people to be had out there."

"You are a hero, Sherlock."

"No I'm not John."

"Yes you are."

"John please don't fight with me on this. For one I can't truly fight back with you so it is unfair and second it's really not the time to fight with me." Sherlock commented. "If anyone is a hero you are, Lestrade is, the people who go overseas and never return, even Jennifer Wilson is a hero, John. You've said it to me before. 'Fun is a woman lying dead' to me. That's not a very good trait is it? It's a bit not good. I really don't waste time caring about the victims…I really don't. That's bad isn't it? I'm not kind to the people who actually do care about me. I don't treat them nearly as well as they deserve. I can only seem to destroy things that I touch."

"That's not true, Sherlock… You saved me… You put me back together. I owe you so much. You took a broken man and made him whole again, you are better than you think you are. Sherlock please know that…"

"I'm not a very nice man, John. My only redeeming qualities are the few friends I have but I push them away constantly. I did drugs… I hurt my family… I hurt my friends…and I'm selfish to boot. I'm perhaps the most selfish person I've ever known."

"Not true."

"Didn't I tell you to not fight me?" Sherlock asked a second late.

"Yes…but I didn't listen." John retorted.

"Why don't you listen when you ought to? Every other time you just go along with it, but when you should listen you refuse to. Perhaps I should tell you to fight with me next time and perhaps you won't." Sherlock chuckled. "Only five more reasons left…and perhaps only an hour to get them up before you get up to start the day. You'll hear from me soon."

John was starting to notice a trend as the line went dead…Sherlock never said goodbye. Had he saved those dramatic last words for the roof of St. Bart's? He did love to be dramatic, much like his older brother…but had he really saved those words for when John would last see him or would he say them again?

Part of John knew that he would never be able to survive hearing those words again…

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**Uh-oh... John seems like he's getting a little more trigger happy... :(**

**Reviews please?**


	11. Life 5: People

**Dear god in heaven...I've never written anything this short in my life...but that's how the cookie crumbles I guess. Next chapter will be longer I promise, but it will take longer for me to write it, so hang in there guys and gals.**

**I still don't own anything...except for embarrasment at how short some chapters can turn out to be...**

**Fail...**

**M for thoughts of suicide. (disclaimer, once a story is put into motion I no longer have control over my characters, i am not to be held responsable for any actions he/she will/won't take.)**

**Read on.**

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Life 5: People

John didn't even pause before playing the next message. "I guess I do have one good thing to offer the world, don't I? Even if it ruins everything, my mind really is an asset to this world. I can find people who were kidnapped, stolen from their homes… I can stop serial killers and rapists from striking again... I can find things that people thought would never be found. I can restore the sanity to a poor man who had been drugged for years… I can stop a woman from taking down an entire government… That has to be good, isn't it?"

"Yes, Sherlock. It's very good. You're brilliant." John told him.

"I mean…I still have something to give to this world don't I… I've yet to conquer Moriarty, but if I were a betting man, I would bet that I will bring him down, even if it's one of the last things I do. I'm not intentionally trying to be overconfident…but if I can do anything for the people who have done the most for me, it's getting rid of Moriarty so they can't get hurt in his stupid game…"

"Sherlock…"

"I shouldn't have started playing, but that choice was made a long time ago… At least my brain is good for something right? Stopping all of those people from suffering seeming like the opposite of 'a bit not good' to me. I think you agree."

"I do…"

"Well…sorry for how short this message was… There wasn't much to put into it… I never did ask, did you go speak with Mrs. Hudson? I'm sure she would have loved the company… You should send her my love when you see her next…no, wait, don't do that… I think she might find it weird if I were dead and sent her my love… Yeah, not the best judgment I've made tonight. I guess I'm tired…I should have listened to you and went to sleep. It's just weird thinking that I'm not alive where you are, when you're alive where I am. I don't know…it's…strange… Well, talk to you soon, alright? Drink some tea or something, I know how much you love tea." The phone clicked as the message ended.

"Might be my last cup of tea…but I'll drink it…you asked me to." John sighed, getting up and limping to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, raspberry this time…Sherlock's favorite.

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**Poor John... :'(**


	12. Death 6: The Game

**Well, this is a bit better when it comes to chapter size. I'm not as ashamed as I was about the last one, but i think the next chapter will be a bit small though. **

**We are almost to the 7th reasons is anyone else excited!? I don't think I've ever written a story this quickly before in my life. It's fun...like serial killers making mistakes.**

**M for thoughts of suicide...duh. Wouldn't you be thinking the same.**

**I still don't own anything to do with these wonderful people, except for Season 2 of Sherlock and every story ACD ever wrote, just saying...not to mention all of the RD jr Sherlock's and The Great Mouse Detective...so yeah... I'm a geek. *takes a bow***

**I'm awesome-if I do say so myself.**

**Thanks for the reviews and revoking all of your death wishes that you sent my way... I'm sorry, I know I'm cruel.**

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Death 6: The Game

John added sugar to his tea, just as if he was making it for Sherlock. He looked down at his left hand and was quite startled to find that it was steady for the first time in three years. He smiled slightly. "Even from the past you've fixed me Sherlock… Why did you choose to die and where in the hell do I come into all of this?" John asked himself. He didn't need his can to support him as he went back to his chair, but his limp was still there. He paused for a moment, hearing rain hitting the cement outside of the flat. "Didn't know it was raining… Now I know how you could miss things so easily, Sherlock."

John sighed and sat down in his chair, sipping his tea and waiting for the next message. He could understand why Sherlock liked the tea with sugar, it brought out all of the flavors that the tea had to offer. "Good afternoon, John—even though it's morning for me at the moment… Your afternoon tea is typically something more reserved… Mint? Chamomile perhaps?"

"Typically yes, Sherlock. Good deduction, bravo." John smiled, taking another sip of the very Sherlockian tea.

"Well, whatever it is I must get on with this… I really don't have enough time. My eleventh reason… A reason to be inclined to go to my death comes directly from my newest and perhaps most brilliant adversary: James Moriarty."

"How could you let _him _have a say in this?" John asked, half-angry half-disbelieving.

"I've known since the pool what direction he was going to take this game of ours. He was far too confident giving me the hint right off… He was going to 'burn the heart' out of me. He knew enough about my past to know that there were very few things in my heart left to burn: estranged family, few friends, and one very much loved career."

"He tried to destroy your career…" John stated knowingly.

"He showed his hand when he turned himself in. I could tell instantly that he was after my career, my reputation. He was going to destroy all that I had ever worked for. For him to do that he would need me to give up, to do something drastic to complete his story… Two things are possible…he could have me admit to being a fraud or he could have my suicide… Of course, he's more about the…what does he call it…'sexy' dramatic flare to everything."

"He wanted your suicide."

"He wanted me dead at my own hand. He wanted the world to know I was a fake… Ah! But here's the hard part. How was he going to get me to kill myself? I didn't have much else he could attack… but even as I sit here I know what's going to happen. He's going to use the few people I care about against me. Perhaps a gun to Mrs. Hudson's head unless I die. Perhaps he would hurt Lestrade and Mycroft in the process—oh… Do you know about them? Mycroft and Lestrade?"

"Yes, they went, _very, _public after your death. God, they were so upset. Lestrade and Mycroft practically carried each other through everything… You nearly killed them."

"Well, they're together. They're a fit match. Someone calm and stable for Mycroft would do him some good." Sherlock stated. "Anyway, if this game is to ever have an end someone has to die, and it's going to have to be me… If I can only get things to plan out the way they're supposed to… If I can get my last move in before the time has come I think things will be alright."

"Nothing will be alright with you gone, Sherlock. Nothing will ever be the same without you. No one will be alright without you. Don't you know how much you mean to m—to everyone?" John inquired.

"I think I can get this to work out…it is just like an elaborate game of chess. I may lose at the end but with all of the right moves I can put on quite a strong match and perhaps leave the opponent crippled."

"You left him dead on that rooftop. He killed himself, Sherlock."

"I doubt that Jim will survive our game. He's like me…we wouldn't ever want to leave loose ends. We never do things half way."

"You are nothing like that madman, Sherlock, don't you ever compare yourself to him."

"I can see this coming to a neat little close, John…all of the ends of his web collapsing without his guidance, without the brain power for the whole operation to continue working. You wouldn't believe how far his reach stretched if I told you."

"I bet I would."

"He's into everything. He's even got his hands on the Iraqi war John! He's started wars. He's behind the 9/11 attacks—even if only a little. He's got his hands dirty with everything, and he says he doesn't like his hands getting dirty, as if. He obviously loves it." Sherlock insisted. "But…our little game really does have to come to an end. I don't know if I can find an alternative, but I'll try—well, that would be the next message wouldn't it…" Sherlock paused for a moment. "I'll talk to you soon John."

John let out a sigh of relief at the fact that he still hadn't said goodbye. He wouldn't make it if he had. John was confused…there were only three messages left and he hadn't been heard and he still hadn't heard one mention of his own name. He didn't know whether to be very pleased with that, or disappointed…

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**Is John in the last three recordings? Hmm I don't know...**

**Reviews are always welcome even if they tell me I suck. :)**


	13. Life 6: Pure Will

**Well... Here's probably the last chapter I will be able to put up for the next few hours. As I have other arrangments for my evening. If you're lucky you might get one more before I leave to go out for a girl's night out... **

**I was also just informed that my family might be relocated soon... I wish it were to England, but i don't think that will happen... Anyway, needed to tell someone.**

**Thank you for all of the reviews.**

**I still don't own anything.**

**M for very suicidal thoughts... sorry... I know I'm a bad girl.**

**There are two reasons after this, and I think only 4 chapters left in total... I know, fast right?**

**Enjoy.**

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Life 6: Pure Will

John got up and grabbed a pen and a pad of paper before sitting down and starting the next message as he began to write on the paper in as neat of handwriting as he could manage. There was silence for a long time in the room. Nothing made a noise except for John's pen against the paper and the sound of rain falling on the outside world, a world that had no hold on Dr. John Watson whatsoever.

"John, is it wrong of me to want to live?" Sherlock wondered, his voice was small, shy, broken.

"No Sherlock, it's not."

"I wish you could answer that… I really do want to know the answer, _your _answer actually, but that hardly matters. Not now anyway." Sherlock added quietly. John took a quick drink of his tea before returning to his writing. "You know, even after all I've been through I still feel this need to live. I feel like I haven't quite lived yet. Do you feel like that? Well, did you feel like that in Afghanistan? You must have had a moment when you felt death coming, did you want to keep living? Did you feel incomplete?"

"I did…then you came along and everything was nearly perfect…but then you died, damn you… Now nothing can be right again…not ever again." John commented, still writing on the paper.

"I've been selfish in the past, wanting to die, wanting to give up…and now when I have every opportunity, I feel like I should live. Strange isn't it. I was always racing for my death but now I would give anything for an extra day…well, almost anything. There are so many things I've never said or done. Now I don't have time for any of it…"

"I know what you mean…about not saying what you thought you should have. I know I missed a thing or two…" John replied, pausing to take another drink of Sherlock's—his—tea.

"Well, I guess I'll have a lot to sort through in regards to all that I've said tonight… There are so many pieces to this puzzle that it's hard to decide which decision is the right one. I wish I could talk to you about this in person…"

"Why didn't you? I'm just in another room." John snapped.

"But I can't make you choose this for me. I have to make this decision… I'm sure my last two messages will show why I've made the decision that I have made, because sitting where I am now in your chair I know that I will not be whole by the end of tomorrow and someday when everything is calmed down enough for you, someone will give this to you so that you know why I made my decision… I owe you that much. I will talk to you very soon I expect, my dear doctor." John got up and tacked the note he had written to the door of the flat before he placed his empty tea cup in the sink and grabbed the phone Sherlock had sent him from beyond the grave.

He walked into Sherlock's room and pulled his gun out of one of Sherlock's cubbyholes that he had hidden around the flat. He loaded it quickly before setting it on the bedside table and walking over to the dresser. He pulled out one of Sherlock's worn-out purple t-shirts and pulled it on before sitting on the bed and awaiting the next message…the second to last…the thirteenth reason.

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**Damn I'm evil. **

**Yell at me if you wish.**

**I regret nothing.**


	14. Death 7: Captain John Hamish Watson

**The next chapter will be very short...well actually, i think the last two chapters will be very short...yup, just two. Didn't i put this story up two days ago? Wow.**

**Well, I have to get around and look decent, my writing attire is wht my mother calls slummy dressing...I think that's codeword for Homeless... Oh well.**

**I still don't own anything.**

**I might be able to write the rest tonight after the theater, unless I'm really tired, then I'll try to get up first thing tomorrow so that I can get this finished before School because my weekend will be busy.**

**So yeah... Don't know what the scoop is on my family possibly being relocated... I'll have to solve that mystery I guess.**

**So, here you go.**

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Death 7: Captain John Hamish Watson

"My last to reasons are quite linked…in fact they are nearly for all the same reasons." Sherlock said, his voice nearly echoed in the empty room. "These reasons make every other reason obsolete, nothing really matters except for this… It all started when I returned to St. Bart's with a bag of green colored soil to examine. I was close to solving the case, actually I was five seconds from having my solution proved correct when someone disturbed me.

"I ignored the first disturbance… I really did, but I couldn't possibly ignore the second disturbance that limped into my sight. You, Captain John Hamish Watson." John closed his eyes tightly…this is what he had feared, he was a reason why Sherlock preferred death. He was a reason for Sherlock's suicide.

"I'm so sorry…whatever I did…I'm so sorry…"

"You limped right into my life and instantly I knew everything about you…but then I realized something."

"What?"

"I didn't know anything about you at all." Sherlock continued. "You were a mystery. You had emotions, feelings. It made me wonder ever so much about you. You came into my life and changed everything. Before you my flat was a mess, most days I couldn't see the floor, but you and your military cleanliness came in and changed all of that. I didn't used to eat more than three times a week, but you came in and had me eating everyday. I didn't used to sleep nearly at all, but you came in and I started sleeping again. I used to smoke constantly, but you came in and broke that habit. I used to keep a supply of cocaine in a small space under a loose floorboard, but when you entered my life I got rid of it…

"I smiled more than I ever had once you'd moved in. You got me to laugh. You appreciated me… John, you are my best friend. You are the most loyal and most lovely friend I've ever had in my life. When we first met you trusted me, no one ever trusted me, John. When you met my brother you didn't dare take his bribe, you were loyal to me. When I almost took that pill, you shot the cabbie to save me. You came after me when you were supposed to be with Sue Lin Yao. You helped me when I was at a complete loss during our first entanglement with Moriarty.

"You always called me brilliant (in every form of the word I might add). You dealt with all of my experiments lying around the flat. You dealt with my moods, the ups and the downs. You dealt with all of the strange habits I've had. You followed close behind me on every case. You stood by me after I insulted you. You left work to come after me when I got into trouble… You stood up to my brother…brave of you, that. You were there for me, my best friend."

"I'm glad…"

"But while all of that was wonderful…it was also the gravest of curses."

_What did I do, Sherlock? What is it that I did? _John inquired.

"Moriarty knew you were the closest friend I had, that was my curse. He had you strapped to that bomb just so he could look me in the eyes and let me know that he saw through me, that if he really wanted to, he could win." Sherlock paused. "I can't go on living if it means you'll die, John. I simply can't do it. You are so much better than me, better than the terrible game I dragged you into. You are a good man and I couldn't allow Moriarty to ruin that. So it is obvious."

"I bet he's got that look again…" John sighed.

"If it's you or me…it's you. That would be my choice every time, John. You have a great many people who care for you, who need you. You deserve to live… And Moriarty knows that I will always think that…that nothing will ever change my mind… So when I finally meet him in the end, not only will Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade be on the line, you yourself will be put on the line. He will make me choose between me and you." Sherlock sighed. "It should be such an easy choice…shouldn't it…?" The line went dead. Sherlock didn't even say is typical 'until later', no, he just ended it.

John stared at the phone for a long moment before he cautiously hit the button for the very last time. He pulled the collar of Sherlock's shirt over his face so he could take a deep lungful of Sherlock's scent as he waited for the final reason to start playing in the quiet room.

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**I know... I'm evil... I just have to leave before the last reason...but you know what? I do have a legit reason to leave. So Bye!**

**If i come home to lots of reviews I might be inclined to stay up late and finish this. :)**


	15. Life 7: My Dearest Doctor

**The Final Reason, are you ready for it?**

**By the way I had a wonderful time tonight. We went and watched Ted which was a RIOT! Just so everyone knows. The random Stewie voice in the middle was epic.**

**Alright...so, one chapter after this... I've cried four times while i've written these last two chapters. If some of you were crying before it's about to be on.**

**I don't own anything.**

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Life 7: My Dearest Doctor

"I knew exactly forty-eight hours after meeting you that there was something strange was going on…and exactly three weeks is how long it took me to figure out exactly what it was." Sherlock's voice was filled with a new emotion, more powerful than his fear and pain from earlier, but John couldn't tell what it was, he had never heard it in Sherlock's voice before. "Lestrade actually helped me discover it. He was the one who helped me realize that I was attracted to you."

Instantly John felt like someone had ran a knife through his gut. Sherlock had been attracted to him… _The Sherlock Holmes _was attracted to little, broken, John Watson.

"Lestrade caught me looking at you during a case and after you had left the room he chuckled. He told me that I should tell you how I felt… I told him that I didn't feel anything…but Lestrade told me 'that is bullshit'—his words not mine. He told me that I was supposed to tell you, that it was the normal thing to do to tell someone…but I couldn't. You made it quite clear that you weren't gay…and I knew it was true. No matter what type of attraction I felt, you wouldn't have returned it, so I never told you…"

Pained tears began to roll down John's face heavily. So many times John had wanted to tell Sherlock that very thing, but he had been too afraid…too afraid of his feelings and the feelings of others.

"I didn't want to ruin our friendship with something that I didn't understand. I couldn't predict how long we would last or if you would have left instantly, so I didn't bother." Sherlock stated in a slow voice. "Nearly three years together, John and there were so many things I wish I had said. So many things I wish I was brave enough to tell you…but I didn't. You're sleeping, just in the other room, John. I want to tell you face to face, but I can't do it. I'm not brave enough…" Sherlock sighed.

"Oh god, Sherlock…" John sobbed, curling himself up into a small ball, trying to hold himself together, trying to remember how to breathe.

"I just can't say everything that I want to say…but there is one thing that I have to say. One thing I just have to tell you or it will drive me insane. It will kill me to know that I never said it to you. Oh, I thought it many times, when you laughed, smiled, followed after me, and saved me from myself. I thought it all the time, my dearest doctor…but I never had the chance to tell you…" Sherlock paused and cleared his throat, he clearly wasn't the only person crying over this message. "Captain John Watson…Dr. John Hamish Watson… John…" Sherlock let out a deep breath. "I love you, I always have, and I always will. For that very reason I will forever regret the decision I have made, because there is nothing that I want more than to tell you that very thing and go on loving you like you deserve for the rest of your life…but my sentiment is not worth your life, especially when I don't know if it is a welcome one…"

"He died for me…he loved me…and I never even told him… He died not knowing how much he was loved, loved by me." John cried.

"I love you, John…my dearest friend, my strong soldier, my heart… I love you." The room went completely silent when the line went dead.

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**Some shit's about to hit the fan... :(**

**Reviews? They help me work faster.**


	16. A Note of His Own: John's Note

**If anyone gets the movie reference from the Title of this Chapter I will send you cookies.**

**Well, here we are... I'm not going to go on a long spew up here. Thank you for the reviews.**

**M for something that begins with an S... I am soooo sorry guys...so sorry... :'(**

**I don't own anything.**

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A Note of His Own: John's Note

The door that belonged to the flat marked 221B didn't use to close. It used to be open for the movement of a great detective, the landlady Mrs. Hudson, DI Lestrade, any clients that happened to make their way to the flat, and a very strong soldier who was the detective's best friend. That door remained closed after the detectives fall and stayed that way permanently. One day it opened and something new graced the outside of the door that hung outside a silent flat. It was a piece of paper with neat, precise handwriting gracing it in black ink. It was in the hand of Dr. John Watson, who wasn't as strong as he had once been.

_To whoever may find this first…_

_I am very sorry. I just can't go on like this any longer. Sherlock made me something more than what I once was. He made me feel strong, brave, safe, and home. He was my best friend and I owed him everything. _

_Now it's all gone…_

_I watched him fall… I watched him hit the ground and take everything with him…_

_I'm so sorry… I tried to be strong, I really did…but I can't. I know this is a cowards way out, but perhaps it's something else as well… Perhaps it's my way to try to find him again._

_Mrs. Hudson, please, just stay out alright? Don't come in here after me, no matter how loud the noise is. I don't want you to see that, alright. I want you to know that you've been like a mother to me, a very loved mother. You always took care of me, and I'm sorry I wasn't there to take care of you after everything happened. Please…make sure you take care of yourself._

_Mycroft though you bother the shit out of me I want to thank you for being there for me. Even though you bugged my house and took all of my real silverware from me…I thank you for being there. I know this has been a hard time for you…you've just lost your little brother and I'm sorry. Thank you for jamming my gun all of those times and finding those pills I was going to take. The phone that's in my house…it told me a lot and if I would have been dead I would never have learned the truth. That though my feelings were fucked up, they were returned by someone I truly loved. Please take everything…it should stay with a Holmes._

_Lestrade…thank you for always being there for me. You were always there when I needed a pint or just needed some air. Thank you so much for that. Please take care of Mycroft and make sure that Mrs. Hudson doesn't get too lonely. Keep her safe for me. And please smile a little more often. You were so much better off happy._

_This isn't your fault, any of you. If it's anyone's fault it's mine. I could have stopped this a long time ago…but I was too damn afraid to tell a great man how I felt._

_I'm so sorry._

_Forever yours,_

_John Watson_

The paper didn't move, it just simply hung on the door with nothing to affect it. It was silent and still, just like the rest of the dormant flat. Outside of the flat a sleek black car sat next to the curb a red emergency light flashing on the hood, but no one moved…they were still…everything was still.

888

_**CRACK!**_

888

In a small bedroom of a flat a soldier smiles slightly at the sound of his gun slide, slipping seamlessly into its place. His hands didn't shake a single bit as he pressed the gun to his forehead right in the center of the triangle that was formed by the center of his forehead and his pupils. He knew how to end something quick and painlessly, he was a doctor, a soldier…and he was going to use every bit of his training.

"John…" The voice was barely a whisper.

…

The silence lasted a long moment but John's finger didn't move from the trigger, didn't shake, didn't falter.

"What do you want? You've never talked to me before."

"Please, just put the gun down." The voice pleaded. The long shadow moved forward slightly, moving away from the closed door.

"Don't you dare." John stated. "These last three years you've done nothing but ignore me. You've done nothing but sit there blank eyed, staring at the wall. Don't you dare try to stop me now when I'm finally trying to let go. You can't do this to me."

"Please…" The voice begged in a broken whisper. "Just talk to me, please."

"You didn't talk to me when I begged you to. You just ignored me."

"John, I'm not—"

"Yes you are, go away. Can't you just let me die?"

"No… I can't watch my friend kill himself. I can't do it John…please."

"That's rich, coming from you. Weren't you the one who made me watch? Didn't you make me keep my eyes fixed on you? Didn't you make me watch you jump from a rooftop? Didn't you make me take your pulse in find nothing? Didn't you just lay there staring up into the sky with your blank eyes while my best friend's blood covered the ground? Didn't you?"

"I'm so sorry, John…" Sherlock whispered.

"Leave me in peace for five seconds. Quit haunting me." John pleaded.

"I'm not haunting you John… I'm standing right here." Sherlock promised. "Just please…" John had to turn at the sound of that voice. It was the sound of a man broken and crying. It was the sound of _Sherlock _broken and crying. John's legs fell over the side of the bed as he looked at the man who stood just in front of the closed door.

He wasn't John's normal hallucination of Sherlock. Usually Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt, or his blue robe with his hair messy and all over the place…this man didn't look like him at all.

His hair was black and lying flat against his prominent cheekbones with just the slightest hint of curl at the ends. He was wearing a soft, grey t-shirt and long form-fitting, dark wash jeans. He had forsaken his usually proper shoes for a pair of black converse with grey laces. He looked thinner than he had ever seen him before. There were dark bags under his eyes and his face look worn.

"Please, John…put the gun down. I promise…I can explain everything." It was obvious that John was not messing around. The gun was ready, there would be no dramatic click before he could pull the trigger. All he had to do was squeeze the trigger lightly and goodnight Vienna.

"You look like shit."

"You look about the same." Sherlock stated, his eyes still full of fear. "Please, put the gun down. I'm not a hallucination I swear…"

"I watched you die." John protested.

"You saw what you needed to see, John. The mind sees what it chooses to see… Please?! Please put the gun down…for me?" Sherlock pleaded. John slowly lowered the gun, watching Sherlock, waiting for him to disappear. "Good…good. Just set it on the table…please." Sherlock said his breathing heavy. John gently set the gun down and looked into the stormy grey eyes that never left him. "Thank you, thank you."

"Is it really you?" John asked. Sherlock took three strides forward but stopped abruptly when John's hand twitched. He looked into John's eyes for a long moment, asking for permission before he knelt down on the floor in front of John's feet. He slowly reached up to touch John's hand but John pulled back.

"Let me… Please? Trust me." Sherlock pleaded. John nodded slowly…and with every tenderness in the world Sherlock reached out to grab John's hand. John was waiting for it, waiting for Sherlock's hand to ghost through his. After all, the hallucination had come through a door that hadn't been opened. But…their hands met gently and their fingers twined together instinctively.

They stared at their conjoined hands in awe for a very long moment. New tears began to stream down their faces as John slowly pulled Sherlock into a standing position. He grabbed Sherlock's shoulder tightly and pulled him into an embrace.

"You owe me a huge explanation." John said in a voice of warning.

"I know." Sherlock whispered.

"I don't care about that right now. I can yell at you, beat the hell out of you, and strangle you to death later…"

"I think that would be counter-productive of you to kill me, though I do deserve it after what I've done to you." John shushed Sherlock with a low commanding noise.

"I will have time to be mad at you later…right now I just want you." John whispered, kissing Sherlock's neck gently. "I don't need anything else…just you."

"That sounds brilliant to me."

"If you're not here in the morning. I will find you and I will kill you." John insisted, one of his hands sliding into Sherlock's wet hair.

"I won't be leaving your side ever again, John." Sherlock swore.

"You bet your arse you won't." John stated before pulling Sherlock into a warm, loving kiss. The pair of them groaned as their lips met. Sherlock was a very fast learner and began to respond to John just seconds into the kiss. In the heat of their kiss John ended up flat on his back against the bed with Sherlock standing between his knees, both of their shirts had gone missing, while they kissing each other senseless. John rolled Sherlock onto his back and began to plant kisses down his chest and across every one of his prominent ribs. "I'm going to have to fatten you up…you're far too skinny, Sherlock."

"Am I?" Sherlock asked, arching his back off of the bed when John's mouth latched onto one of his nipples.

"Mmhmm." John replied before pulling away and kissing Sherlock tenderly on the lips. Sherlock suddenly realized that he wasn't the only one with a problem, as something rather large and firm was pressed into one of his thighs.

"John?" Sherlock asked, panicking slightly.

"It's alright, Sherlock. We don't have to do anything. I'm happy with you just lying in my arms all night." John promised, rubbing Sherlock's cheek gently.

"It's not that John…I trust you…it's just…" Sherlock bit his lip and looked down.

"Hey, it's alright, you can talk to me." John whispered. Sherlock looked up at him, his face covered in a light blush.

"I'm not a virgin, but I… I can't really…I don't know how to… I'm afraid I won't be able to take care of you properly." Sherlock blushed a full shade of red and looked down. John gently placed his hand under Sherlock's chin and forced Sherlock to look at him.

"I don't care about that. I love you just the way you are, Sherlock. None of that matters to me. I just want you to know you're loved." John whispered sweetly.

"You love me?" Sherlock asked in awe.

"Of course I do… I'm just so sorry it took me so long to tell you." John nodded and smiled brilliantly down at his lover.

"John?" Sherlock inquired quietly.

"Yes, my love?" John wondered.

"Make love to me? Please?"

"I'm so glad you asked." John grinned before leaning down to capture Sherlock's lips again. There would be plenty of time to be angry, they both new it, but they weren't going to waste their time with that. They had learned the value of time and they knew not to waste it.

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**there was so much sadness in this I just had to give it a happy ending. The S word was either Sherlock or Smut depending on your thought process.**

**Anyway... Thank you for reading and God bless.**

**Reviews are amazing. I am going to mark this as complete, but i have an Idea for an epilogue. If you want one, just shout it out. I won't write it tonight, as it's getting late, but it will be written if you ask for it.**

**Tell me if you got the movie refrence. I wasn't joking about the cookies.**

**Oh! And I'm sorry for the C_rack!_That was very rude of me...**

**Thank you!**


	17. Epilogue

**Sorry it took me so long to write this... I went on a kayak trip from hell yeasterday. It was all fine and good until my arms got sore three hours in. Then me and my brother nearly died because the rapids on the other side of a waterfall flipped us over and began to drag us against the rocks at the bottom (i'm now the proud owner of 7 bruises and three guts by the way, not to mention a hell of a sunburn)... But even through all of that I remained completely calm and got us out of the situation. I was so proud of my levelheadedness. **

**Thankfully we're both alright. That would be near death experiance number 19 for me. WHOO! I'm getting good at this... Fail... **

**Anyway, I don't own anything but the aloe vera on my burnt skin.**

**Thanks for the awesome reviews. :)**

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Epilogue

John woke slowly as morning sunlight began to shine through the windows. Instantly he was comforted by the body below him and the long, slender arms that held him. He could feel Sherlock's hands dancing against the skin on his back and wanted to stay in that moment forever. "I know you're awake." Sherlock said smoothly. "Good morning, John…"

"Morning Sherlock." John sighed happily. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and rolled them both onto their sides hoping to make Sherlock more comfortable.

"Thank you… My shoulder went numb about an hour ago." Sherlock stated, but he still kept his arms around John.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" John questioned.

"I didn't want to move." Sherlock replied shortly. John smiled and gently kissed Sherlock's cheek. He noticed that his gun was no longer on the side table.

"Where—?"

"Lestrade removed it, he thought it was best if it took a leave of absence for a while." Sherlock shrugged. John blushed instantly.

"He came in here?"

"Yes, about two hours ago… Don't worry I protected your modesty, though he's only interested in my brother…both of them are downstairs."

"You've left them waiting Sherlock?"

"They told me to let you take your time. Even if they demanded to speak to you I wasn't going to wake you up. You needed sleep desperately, my dearest doctor." Sherlock stated. John frowned and looked at everything but Sherlock.

"I'm not a doctor anymore, Sherlock… I quit…I couldn't…I didn't know how to live…"

"Because of me?" Sherlock questioned. John didn't answer. "I'm so sorry, John…" Sherlock frowned and wrapped John in a tight hug. John snuggled up to Sherlock's chest and sighed.

"I forgive you." John promised. "Come on, we shouldn't keep them waiting." Sherlock groaned and reluctantly got up and got dressed. John did the same and they walked out of the room together, holding hands as they made their way into the living room and sat as close to each other as possible without actually sitting on each other's laps. Mycroft looked up from the chair and his eyes ran over the both of them.

"Don't start—" Sherlock warned, knowing that perhaps a hurtful deduction was on its way.

"You two look much better." Mycroft said seriously. "You could both do with a few weeks of very full meals and a whole hell of a lot more sleep, but you look much better."

"Thanks…" Sherlock smiled slightly and rested his head against John's.

"You really do look a lot better." Lestrade smiled, standing over Mycroft's shoulder. John's eyes never left Mycroft's, his eyes were accusatory.

"I didn't know John." Mycroft swore. "I didn't know he was alive until I saw him following you two days ago. He was trying to stop you from receiving the phone, but it fell into your hands anyway. I ripped his head off quite thoroughly once I confronted him."

"Indeed." Sherlock agreed.

"Speaking of, Sherlock, Moran has been recently found dead… The last of Moriarty's network has been unraveled." Mycroft smiled.

"Thank you," Sherlock smiled. Lestrade turned to John.

"I'm not going to return your gun until I am sure that you are more stable. I should have taken it from you the first time something bad happened."

"I understand." John nodded.

"Wait! What first time?" Sherlock interrupted quickly. John looked down in shame while both Lestrade and Mycroft looked like they were at a loss of what to say. "Mycroft?"

"John…lost it without you… Last night was not his first attempt at suicide. That's why I bugged the place. He's pulled the trigger twice…and attempted to kill himself a grand total of eight times, but I've stopped all of them. Your silverware will be returned shortly, by the way." Mycroft explained slowly.

"When where you going to tell me this?" Sherlock asked, his tone sharp.

"When are you going to tell him that you almost relapsed and that you tried to kill yourself…twice?" Mycroft said after looking Sherlock up and down, observing every detail about him.

"Sherlock?" John questioned.

"It seems you two will have some things to talk about…" Lestrade said. "What have I told you about harmful deductions, Mycroft?" Lestrade asked, sending a not so subtle glare at Mycroft who frowned with a very slight bit of repentance on his face.

"Sorry, Greg…"

"You better be." Lestrade replied simply. "Come on, we should leave them alone, Myc."

"Before you go… How did Sherlock get here in time? How did he know?" John wondered.

"After I saw Sherlock following you I had him picked up and brought to me. I spent hours yelling at him and interrogating him. I noticed that you took out my camera's but you usually did, so it didn't bother me…but I still had audio surveillance on the flat… I heard you speak about your suicide so I dragged Sherlock out here as quickly as I could." Mycroft answered, standing up and grabbing his umbrella. "It wouldn't do to lose you now, would it John… My brother needs you and heaven knows I am a sucker for making sure he's happy."

"From your point of view." Sherlock scoffed.

"See us to the door, John?" Mycroft's voice was a demand. John rolled his eyes but got up and followed Mycroft to the black car. "I'll only be a moment, Greg." Mycroft called before turning to John. "Mr. Wilkes is in my custody, John. I assure you he is in the upmost pain."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"My pleasure…" Mycroft said seriously. "No one hurts my family… I suppose that extends to you as well now. Take care of my brother, John. He needs you."

"I will."

"If you ever need to relieve your stress, with anything at all, I'm sure Mr. Wilkes would love to have a visit from you." Mycroft smiled.

"I might just take you up on that." John chuckled.

"Goodbye, John Watson. I'll be expecting a happy anouncment by the end of the week." Mycroft stated before getting into the car. John smiled and made his way back up into his flat where he was instantly engulfed by Sherlock's long, lanky arms.

"Are you alright, my dear doctor?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

"I've never been better." John replied.

It was most definitely the truth.

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**I'm glad to have written this for you. :)**


	18. Sequal?

**Okay... So while I was writing my new story Of Might and Magic, I looked back at this story and realized that there is a very distinct possibility for a sequal for the 14 Reasons Why. I wanted to ask all of you if that would be something you were interested in. The recovery after Sherlock's return and whatnot, so I decided to ask you guys, because there isn't anyone better to ask than you.**

**So if you could leave a reveiw-or if that darn poll ever shows up on my page you can vote there-and tell me what you guys are feeling, it would help a lot. **

**Thank you ever so much.**

**Much love to all of you.**


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